


(a crop of) inextinguishable regrets

by SicIturAdAstra



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M, Mistaken Identity, all of alexander's problems would be solved if he just stopped talking, hercules doesn't think his plans through, james just wants some peace and quiet, they're all children, thomas is confused all the time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-07 06:56:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10354656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SicIturAdAstra/pseuds/SicIturAdAstra
Summary: "Listen, I need you to talk me out of something really, really stupid, because Laf will just encourage me and Laurens will never let me live it down and even I can recognise this as a bad idea.""Wait-" James interrupts, because Hamilton has clearly mistaken him for someone else and whilst he isn't above a little manipulation and deception in politics, this is far more personal a discussion.True to form, Hamilton doesn't let him finish.





	1. his coffee goes cold

**Author's Note:**

> this is barely edited but i really needed to write it out. there's a lot of tjeffs and laf mistaken identity but not much with herc and mads, so i decided to rectify that situation.
> 
> pls enjoy

James coughs wetly into his handkerchief, and regrets every decision he's ever made.

A few people at the surrounding tables look over; some with concern, most with disgust. James pays them absolutely no mind, and obnoxiously takes another drink of his coffee. If he stayed indoors every time he got sick, he'd never leave the house. Besides, most people have far better immune systems than he does. They'll be fine.

He burrows a little further into the soft fabric of his scarf. Well, 'his' in the sense that he stole it from Thomas. It's not like he'll notice; Thomas has more clothes than he knows what to do with. Besides, for some strange reason, everything Thomas buys is far more comfortable and luxurious than what James does, even if they're shopping at the same store. James is a little embarrassed that he can smell moisturiser on the scarf, and even more embarrassed that he can identify it. It's almost as bad as being able to smell Thomas' freaking shampoo in the beanie he also stole, and more than enough to convince James they spend too much time together.

For weeks, James has been almost entirely isolated from the world with a particularly nasty strain of the flu. He'd managed to stay somewhat on top of his work during his moments of lucidity, at first emailing Washington updated drafts and legislature he wanted to get approved. When Washington only emailed back telling him to get some rest (and James could feel his exasperation through the text), he switched tactics and started emailing Thomas instead.

What a disaster that was.

It wasn't that James wanted to work through his illness - he may be dedicated to his job, but he was no Hamilton - it was more that he knew exactly how things were working whilst he was away. Usually, Thomas was fairly level headed. Not practical, he was far too idealistic to ever be _practical_ , but rational. Judicious. Sensible.

All of that flies out the window the second Hamilton opens his mouth.

Instead, Thomas becomes some sort of maniacal, competitive _beast_ , hell bent on destroying Hamilton and little else. Even worse, Hamilton - fairly unstable on a normal day - seems caught in the same pattern. James may not agree with Hamilton's beliefs, but he used to be mollified by the fact that, at the very least, Hamilton would always do what he believed was best for the country. He was wrong, but the intent was there. The second Thomas swaggers in, all fake confidence and disparaging smirks, Hamilton loses his last grip on sanity, taking all his fanaticism and devotion and turning it against the Democratic-Republicans. Or, more specifically, against Thomas.

It would be fascinating to watch if it wasn't up to James to keep the country running as a result. Regardless of how much Washington trusts in Hamilton's ideas and Thomas' intelligence, he still needs _someone_ actually doing work, as opposed to reviving the centuries gone tradition of having an arch-nemesis.

Emailing Thomas was his attempt to deescalate whatever situation was brewing in his absence. For his efforts, he received a barely comprehensible mess dedicated entirely to complaining about Hamilton. When James sent more emails - all of which avoided mentioning Hamilton by name - and received nothing but _more_ complaints, he gave up.

Thomas kept emailing him, because of course he did.

There was barely any mention of what was happening at the White House, which was worrying. With James out of the office and his working ability reduced to a few hours of lucid thought, he shuddered to think of the mess that would be awaiting him.

(A very small part of him revels and rejoices in the _quiet_. Not having to babysit two grown men is so relaxing).

The small ding of the bell above the cafe's door doesn't disturb his thoughts, but the crash of the door and an inarticulate scream sure do. James glances over and suppresses an inarticulate scream of his own.

Hamilton. Of course. No one else could enter an almost silent room and so easily fill it with noise.

He seems frazzled, hair flying in every which way and fury etched in every feature. To James' disbelief, Hamilton lights up upon catching sight of him, despite his efforts in minimising his presence in order to avoid a conversation that will no doubt result in both of them getting thrown out.

Hamilton sits down opposite him, grinning like the maniac he is. James sighs internally; he really liked this cafe.

"Herc, thank god I ran into you!"

Huh?

Already, Hamilton is talking a mile a minute, paying no mind to James' impression of a dazed and confused goldfish. "Listen, I need you to talk me out of something really, really stupid, because Laf will just encourage me and Laurens will never let me live it down and even I can recognise this as a bad idea."

"Wait-" James interrupts, because Hamilton has clearly mistaken him for someone else and whilst he isn't above a little manipulation and deception in politics, this is far more personal a discussion.

True to form, Hamilton doesn't let him finish. "No, hang on, you gotta hear the whole story. I told you how Madison has been out sick, yeah? And that Jefferson is somehow even more infuriating without his little lapdog to stroke his ego-"

And oh god, this is a discussion about him and Thomas, just brilliant. Later, James will have time to reflect and laugh about how Hamilton has completely misinterpreted how he and Thomas work, perhaps over a glass of wine with the man himself. In this moment, James mostly wants Hamilton gone. "Listen-" He tries again.

Hamilton waves an impatient hand, and just keeps on talking. "-so now we aren't even getting any work done because Jefferson is incapable of not being a pretentious ass and he's somehow _worse_ with Madison gone. I honestly didn't think he could get any worse, Herc!" Hamilton looks to him with wide eyes, and James debates whether he should try and interrupt again or if he's already in too deep. "How could he get worse? It shouldn't be possible, there should be a limit on douchebaggery."

He jabs a finger on the desk, and James almost feels as if he's in a cabinet meeting, watching Hamilton debate for his life. Or, perhaps more accurately, it feels like he's gone back in time ten years and he's watching Hamilton tout the various brilliancies of the Constitution. Except at the time, he would watch with a fond smile and marvel at how Hamilton's brain moves too fast for his mouth to keep up. Now, he mostly feels awkward and voyeuristic.

"This morning, right, we had this meeting. Just me, Jefferson and Washington thank _god_ because it was a complete disaster. It started when Jefferson insisted that the banks will strangle the South, which is total bullshit-" And off he goes again, barely pausing for breath. At this point, James figures he should treat it like a hurricane; wait it out and hope he survives. "-next thing I know, I'm standing on the table, the shredded remains of my financial plan litter the floor and I'm fairly certain Washington was having some sort of coronary attack. And well, you know me," Hamilton rolls his eyes, evidently sharing in some sort of in-joke that James is most definitely not part of. He manages a weak smile anyway. "I'm not exactly the best at holding my tongue. So I may have said something that provoked Jefferson, but seriously he was way over the line."

Hamilton sounds like a child trying to justify why they hit their sibling, his excuses weak and pitiful. James raises a single eyebrow. It's only after the eyebrow is halfway raised that he realises how distinctive it is, how Hamilton is going to see it and think of nothing but _Madison_.

It doesn't even phase him. If anything, he takes it as encouragement. "Okay, what I said was pretty bad, looking back. I brought up his wife. It was messy." At the very least, Hamilton looks a tad ashamed. It registers somewhere in the small corner of his brain that isn't busy resisting every attempt to do something rash. Like immediately race to check on Thomas. Or punch Hamilton in the face.

"Stop looking at me like that, I know I fucked up." God, he's _still talking_. "But it doesn't excuse what he said to me! He got super quiet, I think Washington was about to intervene, but then he looked me straight in the eye and said 'well, you'd know all about wives, considering how you were whoring yourself out behind the back of yours'. Which, y'know, that was probably called for. I deserved that."

Honestly, James was a little surprised. That wasn't much worse than what Thomas usually through at Hamilton; to know that he gets so bent out of shape over the slightest of (true) insults was interesting.

"Then he gets all up in my face, and says 'must be in the blood, how long till you start charging like your mother?'" Hamilton sits back, a peculiar look on his face, and it's as if the fire leaves his body all at once. James remembers once thinking that there was nothing inside Hamilton but anger. His passion was angry, his sadness was angry, his _happiness_ was angry. Looking at him now, James wonders if he ever really did know him. He seems almost defeated, drained. Exhaustion is a usual look for him, as well worn as the man's single suit, but _beaten_ is something completely new.

Hamilton puts his head in his hands, and they sit in silence for a moment. James kind of wants to reach out, to say something. He'd always assumed that he'd revel in watching Hamilton be conquered, that he'd enjoy seeing someone so full of themselves be brought back down to the realm of mere mortals. This is different though; there's no victory to be had in this.

It's a bit of an unspoken rule, between Thomas and Hamilton, that there are certain areas off limits. Don't bring up Martha. Don't talk about Hamilton's mom. Technically, Hamilton crossed the line first, but Thomas definitely ended the argument. He had a tendency to shut down when Martha came up, and Thomas with no emotional restraint was cold, cruel and heartless. He'd strike where it hurt and worry about the consequences later, when he could move past the smell of antiseptic, nights spent sitting in uncomfortable hospital furniture, the sound of her flat lining.

"Anyway," Hamilton sits up, and the cocky, arrogant persona is back, "that brings me to my problem. I know this isn't exactly your area of expertise, but John will actually murder me and Laf's friends with Jefferson, he'd probably tell him and think he's helping, French bastard."

No. No no no. James should've stopped this ages ago, should have put his foot down and forced Hamilton to listen. It's too late, already he's leaning in, voice dropping to a whisper, and James can't help but watch. A car crash in slow motion.

"I think I have... _feelings_. For Jefferson." He spits the sentence out, immediately looking disgusted at himself. "Ugh, even saying it feels wrong."

James chokes on his own tongue.

Whilst he's coughing a lung up (he'd always known Hamilton to be unobservant but the very fact that he has yet to figure out James' unintentional deception is mind boggling), Hamilton runs a hand through his hair and continues speaking. "I know, I know, it's nauseating. It used to be meaningless hate sex fantasies - everything he says may be trash, but it's not my fault he won the genetics lottery - and then suddenly I'm daydreaming of holding his hand in a park, like a fucking _teenager_."

At any other time, the look of pure repulsion on Hamilton's face would be entertainment for weeks. As it stands, James manages to cough out a mangled, "how?"

Fortunately, Hamilton seems far too concerned with his own crisis to hear how Southern James sounds. "I don't know, I didn't even realise until he was insulting my mother to my face, and all I could think about was how I wanted to wake up to him every morning. And punch him in his smug, Southern nose, but in a caring way."

"I don't-" James makes the slightest of effort into sounding gruff, but at this point, he's starting to think Hamilton is blind as well as fanatical.

"-understand? Neither do I." Hamilton sits back again, wry smile crinkling his face. "We've been... talking? I guess? We're usually the last ones to leave the office, and at first it was a great time to fight with no one around to stop us. It was like a stress relief; we never ran out of things to argue about.

"And then," Hamilton smiles, they're talking about Thomas and Hamilton is _smiling_ , "they became more like debates, and then just conversations, and there's only so long you can talk to someone before you aren't enemies anymore."

There are a lot of questions James wants to ask right now. The most pressing being, since when are Thomas and Hamilton _hanging out_ after work, and why was James not told? How long has this been going on?

"Don't get me wrong, we still fight like crazy. Every idea he has is wrong and I'm not going to put the country at risk just because I want to suck his dick," and that was far more than James ever needed to hear, "but it's different. Now, when we finish fighting, I want to eat terrible takeout with him and watch shitty movies."

With a noise akin to a beached whale, Hamilton let his head drop onto the table with an audible 'thunk'. "What's wrong with me, Herc." It wasn't a question. James was glad for it; he wasn't in a position where he could answer.

The ensuing silence was broken by the sound of a mobile ringing. Without lifting his head, Hamilton reached into his pocket and answered it. The voice on the other end sounded like Washington. There was something terse about the conversation; James hazards a guess that Washington is pretty done with the bullshit fountain that erupts whenever Thomas and Hamilton share a space.

"Alright Herc," Hamilton ends the phone call, standing up, "I gotta go. Washington needs me. Thanks for the pep talk, by the way. I feel... better." He gives a quick smile, bright and kind.

Then he's gone.

James sits back in his chair.

What the fuck just happened?


	2. hamilton has social difficulties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James struggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh wow thank you so much for the response guys! i love each and every one of you.

James isn't _good_ at this.

He's not someone who improvises. Ever since he was a child, James has been a planner. There's something inherently satisfying about a well-thought out plan, at having contingencies for your contingencies, at holding all the cards and knowing that, regardless of what someone throws at him, he's prepared. A perfectly calculated plan allowed him to graduate college in only two years. A few well timed pokes and prods at particularly weak political links allowed him to place himself expertly, just in time for the revolution.

Even now, James endeavours to ensure he is always the first to know, that information passes by him before anybody else. It's what has allowed him to remain so influential despite being only a Senator. Everybody has a secret shame, everybody owes him a favour, everybody knows that if you want to get something through Congress, you need Madison on your side.

(Having the Secretary of State in your pocket doesn't hurt none, either.)

Still, anyone can position themselves well with enough forethought. James, however, is an expert at getting exactly what he wants with no one even knowing he was involved. It's part of the reason why he was perfectly happy to remain a Senator whilst Thomas and Hamilton moved up the proverbial ladder. The higher you climbed, the more people considered you a threat. Everything the two of them did was a fiasco - in part because they made it such - whilst James was more than content to pull strings from the background and watch his plan fall in to place. Like slowly watching a puzzle take shape.

As such, it isn't often that someone catches James off guard; after all, his entire career is centred on him always being one step ahead.

And yet, Hamilton seems to constantly surprise him.

It's _infuriating_. For someone so dully predictable in his work habits, Hamilton has the uncanny ability to catch James unawares. Yesterday was merely the last in a long line of inconveniences.

Granted, it was slightly more... _unexpected_ than usual.

Now, courtesy of Hamilton, James is walking in blind. He has no plan for a situation like this, no idea how to even approach making one. Sleeping was beyond him last night; his mind just couldn't stop turning the day's events over. The words Hamilton spoke made sense individually, but together they were absurd. James could almost believe that, upon seeing the sun rise, he would realise that it was all a terrible dream.

He never did have much luck.

Staring up at the White House, James feels apprehensive for the first time in his life. He has never been so unprepared for anything.

He is moderately surprised that the White House is exactly where he left it. No signs of fire or anything. At the very least, the amount of property damage inflicted has been reduced, comparative to the last time he took sick leave. Silver linings, and all that.

There is a sense of relief in being back at work. Politics is messy, cruel work; a field full of narcissists, power hungry fools and liars. It is work reserved for the most devious, deceiving beings. Honesty will get you nowhere.

James loves it.

"You're back!" An excited shout from behind him startles James out of his thoughts, and he spins on his heel. John Jay, resident jack of all trades, has his hands clasped together in front of his chest, his face lit up with joy. He's always felt a bit of a kinship with Jay due to their similarly terrible immune systems. "That was a doozy, you were gone for weeks. They even asked _me_ to step in a few times."

James gives Jay a soft smile; it was a well known fact around the White House that Jay was more than capable of performing everybody's job. From the lowliest intern all the way up to Vice President, Jay had done just about everything at this point. For some reason, he was still surprised when people asked him to help out. "Then, I believe I owe you some thanks, for keeping the place running."

"Oh please, I barely did anything." Jay blushes, scratching lightly at his cheek. "And after the theatrics of the past two weeks, I'm sure everyone will be glad you're back."

"Theatrics?"

"Mr Jefferson and Alexander, of course. Who else?" Most people sound exasperated whenever they say those names together. Jay actually sounds _fond_. "It was entertaining, to start. Mr President put Alexander in time out."

"I'm sorry?" That certainly hadn't been mentioned in Thomas' emails. Although, James will admit, he skimmed a lot of the later ones when it appeared that it was only more complaints about Hamilton.

"Well, he didn't call it that, but Alexander wasn't allowed out of the store room until he could 'act civilised'. His Excellency even confiscated his phone." Jay chuckles a little at the memory. "Mr Jefferson was incorrigible, telling anyone who would listen that he got Alexander in trouble with 'his daddy'; his words, not mine." Jay quickly clarifies.

Already, James can see how this is going to play out. "Go on." Best to treat it like a bandaid and get it over with as quickly as possible.

"Well, Mr President must have overheard, because next thing everybody knew they were stuck in the store room together."

James winces, prompting Jay to laugh. Unfortunately, he isn't wincing for the reasons Jay must be thinking. The thought of Hamilton and Thomas stuck in a store room together is far more abhorrent given the information James unwillingly gained yesterday.

Eager to speak to Thomas, James quickly wraps up his conversation with Jay and strides purposefully down the hall. He needs a distraction.

He doesn't bother knocking on the door to Thomas' office; there isn't a whole lot he could be doing in there that James hasn't seen at one point or another. Some fifteen years of friendship will do that.

"Jemmy!"

"Don't call me that."

Thomas is _beaming_. He appears to have been reading something on his computer, and James can just tell that he was squinting, trying to read the small text without reaching for his glasses. If James had to hazard a guess, he'd say that Thomas was reading some of Hamilton's work, given the notepad filled with harsh, jagged writing next to the keyboard.

But he isn't going to think of that right now.

"How are you feeling? Should you really be back at work yet?" Thomas stands, placing the back of his hand on James' forehead. Rolling his eyes at the concern, he lets Thomas fuss and bother and mother hen, knowing that resistance is futile. For all that James gets sick every other month, Thomas can be... paranoid. With good reason.

There's still a limit on how much James can take however, and he bats Thomas' hands away, with a good naturedly mocking, "I'm fine, mother." Thomas rolls his eyes, but thankfully acquiesces without further complaint. "Please tell me you haven't done any irreparable damage whilst I was gone."

As if on cue, a tennis ball flies through the small window of Thomas' door, which James just now realises has no glass. Thomas is pinching the bridge of his nose, so James takes the initiative and picks the ball up.

Scribbled on it in permanent marker is a simple message: _Meeting. Now._

"Should I ask?" He looks up at Thomas, who's left eye is twitching rather suspiciously.

"Probably not." Thomas plucks the ball out of his hand, inspecting it carefully. "This is how we're communicating now."

Three guesses as to who he's talking about.

"Well, we hardly want to keep him waiting. Who knows what else he might find to throw." James mutters to himself. Children, he works with _children._

As they walk to the meeting room, Thomas catches him up on the progress made in the last two weeks. Or, rather, the lack of it. Hamilton made a desperate bid to push his bill through whilst James was out sick, and only ended up embarrassing himself. As if James would take time off work without safeguards to ensure something like that didn't happen. Washington then decided that they should take the time to work towards a compromise, which ended about as well as can be expected.

"What happened?" James asks, mostly for show. After all, thanks to Hamilton's big mouth, he knows far more than he ever wanted to about the disastrous meeting.

There's a slight pause before Thomas continues, "what do you think happened? We fought. Now we communicate via tennis balls."

James stares, and wonders if Thomas actually expects him to buy that. "Really. That's all."

"What else would it be?" Thomas stops in front of the door to the meeting room, looking back at James. Technically, he's not lying, unless you count lies of omission.

James keeps silent, and Thomas takes it as his cue to open the door. Sitting on the other side is Washington, stern and imposing as usual, although he spares them a kind, close lipped smile. "James, good to see you back on your feet."

"It's good to be back, sir." Despite having an unfathomable fondness for Hamilton, the weatherworn wisdom of Washington is a source of comfort. He acts as an anchor of sorts for their ragtag team of revolutionaries-turned-politicians. The ship would have sunk a long time ago without Washington, and it's a fact James is unlikely to ever forget.

At this point, Hamilton bursts through the door in a flurry of paper before skidding to a stop, mouth already moving a mile a minute. "Sorry Your Excellency, I had to-" And for the first time in his life, Hamilton stops talking without someone physically forcing him. The sound he makes is akin to a half-strangled cat.

Washington is looking expectantly at Hamilton. Hamilton is staring at Thomas. Thomas is glaring at an inoffensive pot plant in the corner of the room. James is trying to hide his face from Hamilton.

It's very awkward.

Never thought he'd reach the day where he wished for Hamilton to start talking already.

Washington, god bless him, clears his throat loudly, causing Hamilton to jump in fright and drop almost all of his papers. Hurriedly, he scrambles to pick up as many as possible, still in dead silence. In the seat next to him, Thomas isn't breathing. He's going to have to eventually, although James wouldn't put it past him to asphyxiate himself just to get out of this meeting.

"Alex, I'm sure we all know your plan off by heart at this point. Maybe we should get started?" Washington prompts. Turning bright red, Hamilton takes his seat, quiet as a mouse. "Now, I know tensions were high yesterday, but I'm hoping that we can all remain calm today, and remember that we are professionals."

With every word out of Washington's mouth, Hamilton's expression darkens, and Thomas retreats slightly more into his seat, seemingly with the intent to be absorbed into the fabric. Washington looks down at his paperwork, and James takes the opportunity to touch the back of Thomas' hand. It's simple, but James learnt long ago that sometimes Thomas needs something physical  to ground himself, otherwise his mind tends to spiral. Thomas looks over, giving him a grateful smile; James can only imagine how Thomas has been coping these past two weeks. Unhealthily, he's guessing.

Washington starts, reading through the paper in front of him. "Alright, now I believe we were discussing-"

"I'll take it from here, sir." Hamilton abruptly stands, cutting Washington off. Hardly unusual; Washington doesn't even bat an eye.

Slightly more unusual is the truly magnificent death glare Hamilton levels at James as he starts talking.

"We were talking about back pay of soldiers and the settlement of minor debts between unaffiliated parties-" Hamilton is almost spitting the words, and he has yet to break eye contact with James. His hair has well and truly escaped the ponytail and there's something manic about his gaze that puts James on edge.

Hamilton's eyes flick down for just a second, and James follows his gaze to where he's still touching Thomas' hand.

You've got to be kidding.

Slowly, James retracts his hand, ignoring the strange - almost hurt - look Thomas shoots him. He can mend that bridge later, right now he has more pressing issues. Like the fact that Hamilton looks as if he's two seconds from scrambling over the table and throttling James himself.

"-and we need a process in order to identify parties that claim to be unaffiliated but are actually colluding in order to deceive and claim payments that are not legally theirs." Hamilton is putting new meaning into the phrase 'if looks could kill'. He's gesticulating wildly, hair flying every which way. Washington looks a tad concerned.

"And what would this process be?" Thomas interrupts. "Like every aspect of your financial plan, you paint a pretty picture, but there's no substance to this." He taps an elegant finger on the stack of paper by his side, cocking a single eyebrow. It's a move shamelessly stolen from James, and Hamilton must recognise it as such, because his lips curl into a snarl.

"If you had actually read my financial plan, you would know I had proposed a method by which we could-"

"Oh that? I thought it was a joke."

"Did I say read? I meant comprehended." Hamilton takes a step forward, leaning over the table, almost demonic in his determination. "Now I could hardly expect an inbred Southerner like yourself-"

"I'd watch your mouth, Hamilton." James interjects, because this is really getting out of hand. "Nothing good awaits if you finish that sentence." Really, the man is in a room with three Virginians, or did he somehow forget?

Hamilton opens his mouth, ready to start another verbal barrage, when Washington holds up his hand. "I think you've made your point, Alex. Let's not make it personal?" Starting at the rebuke, Hamilton nods sharply.

"Of course, all of this conversation is meaningless, given your plan will never make it through Congress." Thomas drawls, slouching in his seat and giving his smarmiest of smirks, really going for the obnoxiousness trifecta. There's a strange sort of pleasure in watching Hamilton's eye twitch.

"Only because you and your little _boyfriend_ keep blocking it." Hamilton mutters under his breath; jealousy is always a terrible look for people.

Thomas stiffens in his seat. The movement is slight, so small that it isn't even noticeable if you aren't looking for it. James sighs, and resigns himself to damage control once again.

"Evidently, I haven't been clear." Thomas stands, a single fluid motion to ensure that he towers over Hamilton. "Allow me to clarify: the reason your financial plan won't pass isn't because you didn't _try_ hard enough, or because James and I have it out for you, or even because you're not American."

This is the difference between himself and Thomas, because _this_ is something Thomas is good at. Thinking on his feet, tearing people apart, _improvising_. Thomas is a chameleon, shifting forms like suits, changing his face every day and each one fitting just as well as the last. There's no forethought, no planning involved - Thomas is almost incurably incapable of both - but James can physically see his brain click into gear, can watch Thomas find each and every weak spot in his opponent and use it to destroy them. It's an art form, in its own way.

 "It will fail because the plan itself is corrupt," Thomas is barely talking above a conversational level, deceptively casual, the steel in his eyes unyielding, "because it's a plan that will strangle our newborn nation before it even has a chance to establish itself. Because your entire proposition hinges on placing an unprecedented amount of power in the hands of someone who's only prior experience in the field was managing the books of a trade post on some no name island in the middle of nowhere.

"So yes, I will do my best to ensure your plan dies a pitiful death on the Congress floor, because I am capable of putting the needs of my country before my own ambition. The thing is, I don't _have_ to stop your plan personally; any halfwit who reads it will realise instantly that this is nothing more than a greedy attempt to propel yourself into an unearned and entirely undeserved position of power."

By this point, Hamilton is red in the face and shaking with barely contained rage, Washington is pinching the bridge of his nose and Thomas is almost radiating self-satisfaction.

"There you go, Alexander. Is that clear to you?" Thomas finishes, his smirk callous. Even James has to admit, there's something ethereal about Thomas when he's like this. He's harsh, cold, an unreachable pinnacle.

"I think we might be done for the day?" James says, breaking the tense atmosphere. "There's evidently a lot I must catch up on before the next cabinet meeting."

"Hopefully, when in front of the greatest minds of our generation, we can all exhibit behaviour befitting adults?" Washington says, standing up. As he moves to leave the room, he does pause long enough to give James a small nod, before leaving without another word.

James glances back over at Thomas and Hamilton, neither of whom have moved. The door clicks shut, and Hamilton is instantly out of his seat, getting as far into Thomas' face as his height will allow. "The only thing that's clear to me is that you have no concept-"

"Hamilton!" James barks. "Let it go."

For a second, he thinks Hamilton is going to argue with him. He certainly wouldn't be surprised. However, Hamilton merely lets off an animalistic growl and storms out, expression thunderous. Internally, James sighs; chances are he'll check his email later to find a cited essay on how he's single handily running the country into the ground.

And then there were two. Thomas is holding himself preternaturally still; the control is impressive. "Thomas?" James whispers, not sure what the fallout of that little encounter is likely to be. For all he pretends to be aloof, Thomas can be an incredibly emotional and volatile person. Even James can have trouble predicting how he'll react sometimes.

Thomas' body is taut. He spins sharply, punching the wall. The light fixture shakes a little. He lets out a watery, "fuck", and as if the strings have been cut, all the tension leaves Thomas' body. His leans his head against the wall and exhales.

"Thomas?" James repeats, cautious. He reaches out to touch Thomas on the shoulder.

"Don't." He snaps, without looking over. "I just need a moment."

"Alright. Come find me later; we'll get dinner." It's an easy promise, nothing too demanding. Sometimes Thomas needs easy promises to fulfil.

James leaves. It isn't easy. It's never easy walking away from Thomas when he gets like this, but he needs space and James can respect that.

Besides, it gives him time to think about how _utterly fucked_ he is.

Sitting through that meeting was like torture; Hamilton evidently had no way to channel his newfound 'feelings' in a healthy and productive manner. Really, getting _jealous_ over the relationship James and Thomas had? The very idea that there was anything romantic between them was laughable. Granted, that may have been how their friendship started, but that had evaporated entirely before Hamilton had so much as stepped foot in this country, and had been entirely one-sided.

Thomas had been a different person back then; awkward, gangly, too smart for his own good, and only half-decent at hiding it from the world. He'd definitely grown into his personality, although there was far more of that socially incompetent college student there then Thomas allowed people to see. To this day, James isn't entirely certain what Thomas initially saw in him, or why he stuck around after James refused his advances. As selfish as it sounds, he wasn't interested in someone as... high maintenance as Thomas.

And yet, Thomas had shrugged upon hearing the rejection and merely continued as usual, draping himself over James' dorm, buying him lunches and theatre tickets, walking him home after class. James hadn't pressed the issue, figuring Thomas would get bored trying to woo someone who wasn't interested eventually.

He didn't. He merely changed his objective from a romantic one to a platonic one.

James enters his office, allowing himself a small smile. Thomas really hasn't changed as much as he'd like to believe. He's always been a complete attention hog, needing people to  marvel at how _brilliant_ he is, yet at the same time, that very attention causes him to over think and panic. When they first met, Thomas had been completely overbearing, smothering James with his intense need to have him; a desire that only seemed to grow when James showed no interest whatsoever.

Their first conversation was polite, relaxed and noncommittal. It was some sort of meet and greet, the kind of thing James had despised at the time for taking him away from his studies. Thomas had been making his way around the room, obnoxiously obvious in a hideous purple paisley suit, schmoozing with everyone he could. James was surprised when he strode over; after all, James was no one important at this time, just another student operating under too little sleep.

"You're not gonna meet anyone slouched against that wall." Thomas had said, and up close he didn't look anywhere near as relaxed or collected. He seemed kind of sweaty, actually.

"I met you, didn't I?" James had shot back. Thomas had laughed, short and surprised. There was a gleam in his eye, something fascinated.

They'd realised pretty quickly that they shared similar ideals, similar goals. James had left the night thinking that it wasn't such a waste of time after all; maybe he'd meet Thomas again in the future.

He didn't expect the future to be the very next day.

"Well, what a coincidence." Thomas drawled, making it very clear that it wasn't a coincidence at all. He was slouched against the library aisle, his repugnant clothes emanating an aura of sleaze.

"Do you even study here?" Thomas cut a very noticeable figure; tall, handsome, terrible sense of fashion. Even if they didn't share any classes, James was certain he couldn't have missed him around campus.

Thomas waved him off. "Not important. What are you doing?"

"Studying. Hence why I'm in a library." James turned and walked back to his table, thinking that would be the end of it. As far as dismissals went, it was fairly transparent, but James wasn't exactly going for elegance. He had a lot of work to do.

"Maybe I can help." Thomas sat down opposite him and leant further over the table than was strictly necessary. James raised a single eyebrow. "What are you studying?"

"The religious implications of overthrowing a King anointed by divine right and the ripple effect impact that would have on our current judiciary system."

Thomas doesn't even blink. "Realistically, should we overthrow a King," and they're skating dangerous talk, you never know who might be listening, "we would most likely have to rebuild our entire judiciary system from the ground up."

"Hmm." Thomas is trying to draw him into conversation, but honestly? James isn't interested. His time is limited if he wants to graduate according to schedule, and he can't afford to push his plan back a year.

"Our current system is far too entrenched in the need for a divine ruler; take that away and what's left?"

He thinks Thomas continued talking but James tuned him out. The stack of books he has to read through by tonight is far too large for him to focus on whatever this weirdo is ranting about.

"Of course, that's assuming we should overthrow the King." That drew James' attention. He lifted his head from his notes and levelled Thomas with a look of disbelief. They'd spent a decent amount of time talking last night, and at no point did Thomas strike him as a Loyalist. If anything, he seemed almost zealous in his desire to create a republic.

Slowly, Thomas smirked, the challenge evident in his eyes as he continued speaking. "After all, the King and the British Empire built this country; what right do we have to challenge his rule? And the cause for this all important war, that will no doubt result in countless unnecessary deaths? A tea tax that only affects individuals importing tea _illegally_. Why change the status quo?"

"You're joking, right." James deadpanned. This guy can't be for real.

"Absolutely not." Thomas' grin widened, becoming truly shit-eating. Before he even registered what was happening, James was giving a full-on lecture about the injustice of taxation without representation. The entire time, Thomas merely smiled, as if he had someone won something. When James next looked at his watch, several hours had passed.

He paled; he was so far behind schedule. Thomas stood, and wandered off with a wave and a, "see you tomorrow James!"

It only hit James later that Thomas had been looking for a reaction, any reaction. That the fucker was pulling his pigtails, so to speak.

Now, he looks back on the memory fondly, but at the time James had only thought that Thomas was an incorrigible dick.

Since then, he's learnt that Thomas has some sort of ability to see things in other people that aren't immediately obvious. He fell for Martha almost immediately, treating her in much the same way he had James; hanging around her until she found herself fond of him. She'd been a kind soul, but was completely unwilling to take his shit. In their first meeting, she gave him a complete dressing down in front of a group of dignitaries from Spain, back when Thomas' career was getting started.

James had thought he'd be furious. Instead, he was in love.

Something sinks in James' stomach. A distressing pattern is emerging.

Could- no. It's impossible. James is seeing things, imagining things that aren't there, as a result of Hamilton's ludicrous claim. He planted these ideas in James' head, there's nothing more to it.

But still. Once is normal. Twice is coincidence. Thrice is a pattern.

Because that's the thing about Thomas. He isn't good at letting go. At accepting defeat. If he gets... attached, he will keep coming back no matter how much pain it may cause him. And he loves to be the centre of attention, regardless of whether it's good attention or not. Adoration or hatred, Thomas doesn't care; anything but indifference.

He would rather get any reaction than none.

Could-

Could Thomas be pulling Hamilton's pigtails?

The thought is ludicrous. For years, the two have been at each other's throats; that's far more than simple pigtail pulling. Not even Thomas could hide feelings like that for years, not from James. No one knows him better than James.

He rests his head in his hands, grateful that he's alone in his office. Turning the thoughts over in his head is doing him no good; James needs someone to bounce ideas off. Thomas is, obviously, out of the question, as is almost everyone who works with them. Outside of that, his options are relatively slim. James doesn't tend to keep a lot of friends, certainly none he could trust with information such as this.

There must be someone-

He sits up. There is someone he could tell, someone who should've known all along. Granted, he's never actually met the man, but James figures they can move past that fairly quickly.

He opens up a new browser window.

Within the hour, James has a name and business address for his double.

Hercules Mulligan. After all, who better to tell than the man himself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like history things
> 
>   * james madison really did graduate in two years from princeton. he almost killed himself trying to do it, and the board was hesitant to let the next upstart, aaron burr, try the same thing as a result. 
>   * john jay didn't do every job, but he was acting secretary of state before jefferson came back from france, was the first chief justice, was the governor of new york. dude got around 
>   * jefferson and madison wrote the virginia statue of religious freedom together, hence why they argue about religion and it's place within the judiciary system. prior to the revolution, people were actually prosecuted for not being the right religion, although it wasn't a common practice by 1776. 
> you are all my favourite people.



	3. hercules mulligan has excellent finger control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a short chapter guys, because i'm pretty swamped with life right now and this was a weird transition chapter, but i wanted to give you a little something something

For the second time in a week, James finds himself sitting in a cafe talking about Hamilton's love life. Except this time he gets to enjoy the look of shock, confusion and slight horror on someone else's face.

Hercules Mulligan, a goliath, hulking beast of a man, sips daintily from a china tea cup as he absorbs the news. James patiently waits for the man's eyebrows to lower before continuing; he knows from experience that this sort of information absorbs slowly.

Honestly, James assumed it would take more convincing for Mulligan to trust him, but the man seems to possess a  predilection towards belief. It had taken barely an introduction before James was being ushered to the newest cafe, Mulligan bellowing that "any friend of the good General is a friend of mine!"

 It was, unfortunately, the same cafe Hamilton himself had confessed unwittingly to James, which has him sitting on edge, hoping Hamilton won't walk through the door at any point during this conversation. That would be hard even for James to explain.

"Let me get this straight," Mulligan places his teacup down carefully, producing barely a clink of sound. "Mistaking you for me, Alex confessed his dirty, inappropriate feelings about Jefferson, and your reaction was to... track me down and fill me in on the office gossip?"

"Well, I wouldn't have phrased it like that," James nurses his own tea, allowing himself a second to inspect Mulligan. Seeing the man, in the flesh, it wasn't inconceivable that Hamilton mistook the two of them. There were similarities; the curve of the nose, the slope of the eyes. But where James' nose was knobbed from a bad break as a child, Mulligan's was smooth. James' eyes arched down, giving him a perpetually disinterested glare that had done more for his political career than a law degree ever did. Mulligan's arched up, surrounded by laugh lines and crinkles.

There were more striking physical differences as well. The bulky frame that gave Mulligan his easy swagger and gentle confidence had no place near James' doughy body. He never had been able to keep any sort of muscle on his frame, and had long ago accepted that 'short and fat' would forever be his descriptors. If he's being honest, looking at Mulligan is like looking into a mirror of what could've been. The kind of person James might have been had his immune system worked, had he not spent his entire life in and out of hospitals.

"But that is what you're saying." Mulligan smiles lazily, his posture relaxed. He seems almost too big for the chair, the table, the cafe. Attention seems to divert naturally to Mulligan, a general air of friendly intent allowing people to fall easily into his orbit. Sitting opposite him is not dissimilar to dining with Thomas, both of them attracting attention effortlessly, although Mulligan wears it far more naturally.

"It seemed prudent." Despite himself, James found Mulligan... disarming. Comfortable. There was no trust between them, but he was enjoying himself.

Odd.

"And now you want to, what, get them together?" Mulligan snorts, as if it were a joke, and picks his tea back up, taking a long sip.

James doesn't laugh. Mulligan slowly places his teacup down.

"You can't seriously want to get them together."

"I do." James nods; he does so delight in surprising people.

Scratching behind his ear, Mulligan looks contemplative, as if he were seriously considering the idea. There's an authenticity to his face, something James just realised wasn't there before. It seems Mulligan wears his affability the same way James wears his polite disdain. "Look, you obviously know Jefferson a whole lot better than I do, but I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"May I ask why?" James sips his tea.

"Because I know Hamilton." Suddenly, Mulligan is all business, the sociable demeanour still present, but subdued. There's nothing malicious or cruel in the way Mulligan is holding himself; just protective intent. James can respect that. "Having weird sex fantasies about Jefferson is nothing new; Alex is the over-sharing type and I've been hearing about it for years. One of his favourite rants is about how Jefferson must be Satan, because 'they always said the devil would be beautiful'."

Some of his barely concealed alarm must show on his face, because Mulligan permits a small amount of friendliness to return. "Not exactly poetry, is it? But if he has _feelings_ for Jefferson, that changes everything. Alex doesn't fall for people like Jefferson."

"People like Jefferson?" James asks. He may be appreciating the man's company, but he'll fight tooth and nail if Mulligan dares insult Thomas to his face.

"I'm guessing you never paid much attention to the people Alex dated, even when the two of you were friends?" Affable once more, Mulligan leans back in his seat, one leg on either side of James' chair. James is no stranger to these games, to the interplay of dominance and information. To reveal his hand so brazenly is a risky move - after all, nothing about their interactions previously suggested that Mulligan remembered James' past association with Hamilton. But there is a reasoning to it, an obvious attempt at endearment whilst also asserting his command over this conversation. Unlike Mulligan, however, James feels no need to flaunt his control; after all, people can't fight back if they barely recognise they're outmanoeuvred.    

"It wasn't at the top of my priorities, no." James offers a bland smile, sipping his tea. It's gone cold. He takes it like a man.

Mulligan picks the teapot up and slowly refills his cup. "Alex has a tendency to fall hard, fast and messy. For all his good qualities, Alex can be..." A pause, as Mulligan searches for the right word, "destructive, in his relationships. His type tends towards kind, but resilient. Passionate, but altruistic. And most importantly, Alex is attracted to people who can't say no to him."

Taking a sip of his tea, James evaluates what he knows of Hamilton with what the man would possibly want in a relationship. Everything Mulligan says seems to gel with James' limited knowledge of Hamilton's past conquests; selfless Eliza, steadfast Laurens. Both head over heels for a man incapable of stopping for anyone. The resulting fallout from both relationships was front page news for weeks.

"So you don't believe Hamilton has developed a romantic interested in Thomas?" James lets his face fall into a practiced smile; it's dreadfully fake, but that only makes it more off-putting. "Or you just don't think they should pursue a relationship?"

"It can't be both?" Mulligan sends a passing waitress a smile, undoubtedly charming, yet almost vile in its overt flirtatiousness, and entirely unnecessary given that his next move is to ask for the check. He turns back to James, "after all, Jefferson hardly fits the mould. Everything I've heard about the man leads me to believe he holds nothing but contempt for Alex, and he's sure as hell capable of saying no to him. Besides, given what I've heard, I wouldn't put it past you to try something like this to undermine Alex's position."

The brash honesty is somewhat unexpected. James is far too used to dealing with politicians talking in nothing but half-truths and lies. It's an understandable caution as well. Given the volatile nature of their falling out, it's logical to assume that Hamilton has spent the last few years raking his name through the mud. it's the first true hint Mulligan has given towards the lack of trust in their burgeoning friendship. Hearing it only makes James smile; after all, he trusts no one without good reason, and Mulligan similarly has done nothing to earn it. "Are you asking to be convinced?"

The waitress steps obnoxiously into James' field of view, blocking Mulligan temporarily. Her sugary sweet voice is cloying in its intensity. Honestly, subtlety is a dying art. Thankfully, she doesn't prolong the torture, although Mulligan's expectant leer is a torture in its own right. She leaves the check. "Come on, I got this." He places a few  bills on the table, far more than the worth of their meal, and stands. It feels as if the entire cafe shifts with him.

"May I ask where we're going?" James stands, following Mulligan as he throws the door open. It's fascinating how _loud_ the man is, how every movement carries with it a specific sound.

Shooting a playful smirk over his shoulder, Mulligan strides ahead, long legs ensuring James must hasten his pace to keep up. "Back to my shop. I've got to get me a suit."

"A suit?" James doesn't think he likes with this is going.

Mulligan nods. "You got your chance to be me, so I only think it's fair that I get to be you."

James was right, he really didn't like where that was going.

"Absolutely not."

Mulligan doesn't even appear to hear him; one wonders where he picked up _that_ habit. "I think I'll do a fairly good you." He shifts his voice slightly, affecting a more Southern accent and softening his vowels. James will (reluctantly) admit that it's a decent impression.

"Unintentionally impersonating you does, in no way, allow you to masquerade as me. I mean no offence," he means full offence, "but I happen to be in a far greater position of power than a mere tailor. I will not allow you any measure of control over my position in the Senate."

"You don't think a tailor has any power? What do you think the General would have done if he hadn't had any dress uniforms to wear?" The questions _sounds_ sarcastic, but it is legitimately hard to tell with Mulligan. Everything he says is unerringly cheerful. For all James knows, maybe Mulligan actually does believe that.

They stop outside Mulligan's workshop, a quaint little store hidden between a filthy takeaway joint and a second hand bookshop. The sign is old, cracking, and underneath the neat typeface is a hand painted addition: 'Clothier to Genl. Washington'.

"Buckle up Madison," Mulligan turns to him, shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. It's the same grin Hamilton gets right before he has a terrible idea, and for the first time James considers that maybe Hamilton got his bad habits from _Mulligan_ , and not the other way around. It's a terrifying thought. "I'm going to teach you how to be a spy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> herc was an interesting challenge. i have this idea that oak's herc is super friendly to everyone, but he's much more conniving when he's actively sizing someone up, and james would be on that shit. he's the king of sizing people up.
> 
> as always, we have some historical notes:
> 
>   * alex really did learn everything from herc. when the ham man first moved to america, he supported the british. it was living with the mulligan's that changed his mind 
>   * due to some pretty extensive personal connections, herc knew of alex back when he was a clerk in st croix. when alex came to america, broke as can be, herc let him live in his house and helped him apply for all his schooling. dude was a good friend 
>   * herc's sign really did say that. washington used herc as a tailor for years after the war. 
>   * herc was super sneaky in how he stole info from british soldiers, asking them when they needed their clothes back by. if a bunch of soldiers gave the same date, evidently something was going down then 
> 

> 
> you guys are all far too kind to me. every time someone comments i need to hide from the public because im smiling too hard.


	4. no one has any fun whatsoever, except mulligan, who shouldn't be having fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James has a lot of regrets. This is one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **edit:** ok so i edited this a little because publishing at 6am is a terrible idea and i wasn't happy with it.  
>  for those of you who read it before, very little has changed and you probably only need to reread it if you want a more polished version. if you don't want to reread it, i put the one, minimal change in the end notes so you can just skip ahead to there.
> 
> thanks again to everyone's lovely comments! i know i don't response individually because im a terrible human being but it's only because i am consumed by love for you all that it steals my words.

"This is a terrible idea," James sputters.

"This is a brilliant idea," Mulligan shoots back.

Regretting every choice he's ever made, James can't help but sweat profusely as he and Mulligan approach the security checkpoint of the White House. This is, quite possibly, the stupidest thing he's ever done. More ridiculous than when he accidentally started a club war between the two debating societies at college. More stressful than the time Thomas took him to an adoption drive for cats, conveniently forgetting to mention that he's _deathly_ _allergic_ _to cats_ and forcing James to spend four harrowing hours waiting at the A &E to hear if he's okay.

More reckless than the single time he agreed to get a drink with Hamilton after work. Although he still isn't certain how, James woke up in a pond some 300 miles out of New York to the sound of a cell phone ringing. It definitely wasn't his, regardless of the sticky note stuck to it that had 'Madison's phone' written in sparkly green pen. By the time he answered, Hamilton was already halfway through his story, rambling about how he'd been detained at the Canadian border and needed James to save him _right now_.

This is, somehow, worse than all those situations combined.

James catches his reflection in a passing window; he has to give Mulligan credit where it's due, he is an excellent tailor. The clothes he gave James were altered _just so_ to make him seem taller, bulkier. A beanie to cover his hair, a few layers of clothing, and James is virtually unrecognisable.

The transformation is nothing compared to Mulligan however, who seemed to put a suit on, alter how he carries his weight, and he changed right in front of James' eyes. It's vaguely uncomfortable, watching himself walk and talk and smirk.

How exactly, James wonders, did Mulligan met the President? This sort of subterfuge comes to him far too easily to be dismissed as natural talent. After only a few short hours, Mulligan had perfected James speech patterns, his gait, he could answer questions on the fly with answers approximating what James himself would say.

The acting seemed second nature for Mulligan, but James... struggled. They'd spent a night going over key personality quirks, important information, things that might come up in conversation. Mulligan knew exactly the right questions to ask, knew the things that were necessary and the things he could bluff. When it became obvious that James was a stilted and horrific actor, Mulligan switched tactics, giving a rundown of his thought process instead. Lying, deceiving, the art of politics may come naturally to him, but pretending to be someone else was a skill he, sadly, did not possess. In comparison to the ease Mulligan was able to mimic him, it was a little embarrassing.

"I wouldn't worry too much," Mulligan had assured him. "Alex will talk right over you either way. Try and get the accent as close as possible, sit back, and watch him go."

They were approaching the security checkpoint. There was still the option of backing out, except Mulligan had his ID and his stride and his accent and who knew what he could do unsupervised? For all James likes to think of himself as a cautious man, he seems to have a inclination towards enabling reckless behaviour. And participating in said reckless behaviour. Giving Mulligan his identification and letting the man impersonate him was a prime example.

"Mr Madison." The security guard nods once at Mulligan, his eyes roaming over the ID card handed to him. For all his heart is pounding, James thinks he does a decent job of maintaining a neutral resting face when the second security guard turns to him.

Forcing his hand steady, James hands over his - Mulligan's - ID. This is fine.

The security guard doesn't talk much, leaving James to stew in his own anxieties. Beside him, Mulligan maintains a perfect façade, a gentle laugh allowing him some compassion whilst his poised stance preserves distance. It is, perhaps, more softness than James himself would show, although it does the job of convincing the security guard, who waves him through without another glance.

James is almost offended; the same security guard has seen his face every morning for years. He thought the deception would be more difficult to pull off. The other guard hands Mulligan's ID back to him, and James gives a wide wave and wider smile. It's awkward and horrific and the guard seems more uncomfortable than anything.

"Relax," Mulligan whispers, slipping back into his brogue, "don't hold yourself so stiff." Reluctantly, James loosens his spine, trying not to slouch too much. Identity fraud or not, James will not allow his perfect posture to be ruined. "Now, walk around like you own this place - shouldn't be too hard, from what I hear you practically do - and try to be as open and honest-looking as possible."

Mulligan pulls back, and James finds himself uncomfortably close with his own mirror image again. "Try not to lose track of time," Mulligan says, raising one eyebrow with contempt, faux-Southern accent back in place. They agreed earlier to switch back at lunch, allowing both of them to actually do their jobs and (hopefully) minimise suspicion.

In his own attempt at impersonation, James gives a languorous smirk and a lazy salute, ensuring his limbs remain loose and fighting the urge to straighten his back. Some of his struggles must show, because Mulligan appears on the verge of laughter as he struts away.

James doesn't think too closely on the fact that Mulligan clearly already knows where his office is. Or how he's unleashed a beast upon poor, unsuspecting Thomas. Or the sheer amount of damage Mulligan could do in this situation.

Instead, he strides away, hands in his pockets and heart in his throat, to find the one man he truly cannot stand.

Given it's barely past 9 in the morning, James is certain that Hamilton will be in his office, having set up camp there several hours earlier. The workload of a politician is already monstrous, but Hamilton takes it to the next level, arriving earlier and staying later than everyone else combined.

Well, not everyone. Apparently Thomas tends to work late nights too.

Walking the halls in someone else's shoes is an eye-opening event. James isn't dense, he knows his reputation. Has cultivated it, actually. So to walk past people he's worked beside for years and be greeted with open waves and kind smiles instead of respectful nods of deference is an entirely different experience. He wouldn't say he prefers it - James is, ultimately, a man who enjoys the quiet reverence of his colleagues - but it's... nice. New.

"Mr Mulligan!" Oh no.

Smile as wide and inviting as he can make it, James spins, attempting to ignore the pounding of his heart. With careful, measured steps, Aaron Burr marches towards him. Strangely, instead of his usual, reserved simper, Burr appears almost... happy. It's off-putting.

Then he hugs James. No warning is given, and James is wholly unprepared for what the correct course of action is. Resisting every instinct to push Burr off, James brings his arms up and wraps them around Burr, trying to make it as warm as possible. He even adds a clap to the back, for good measure.

He can _never_ tell Thomas about this, or he'll be hearing about it for the next twenty years.

"How many times I gotta tell you to call me Herc?" It's as close to Mulligan's accent as James can get, but thankfully Burr doesn't seem fazed. It's a calculated risk, saying something in reference to a past conversation James isn't certain existed, but it pays off when Burr laughs, completely at ease in James' presence.

"One more, it seems. You here to see Washington? Or Alexander?" Burr starts walking, allowing James to fall into step. Despite how completely separate from politics his reasons for doing this are (although a very small part of him will admit that the political ramifications of Thomas and Hamilton dating has crossed his mind), it's hard not to consider this opportunity. Burr has been nothing but a loyal Democratic-Republican, working hard as a newly elected Senator and doing everything he can to be on his and Thomas' good side.

Some things are chemical however, and Thomas' dislike of Burr is one of them.

Personally, James is a tad fond of Burr. They play politics by the same rules, trying to ensure that all the pieces fall in exactly the pattern they desire. What James doesn't respect is the wish to be powerful for power's sake. Place any other politician in the President's chair - whether it be Thomas or Adams or, god forbid, _Hamilton_ \- and James trusts that they would do what they consider best for the country. Maybe he won't agree with their decision, but the small consolation of knowing that their intentions are good will warm his soul as he plots their political demise.

He can't say the same for Burr. Shame really, otherwise they would have gotten on famously.

"Both, probably. Alex'd never let me live it down if I came all the way out here and didn't see him." This is a different side of Burr, something softer than the harsh shell he usually presents at work. Out of all their colleagues, Burr is either the biggest mystery or the simplest puzzle. James has never been able to get a read on how deep the placid mask runs; being able to interact without the obstacle of political advancement is a prospect James can't pass up.

Besides, it's getting easier to mimic the rough brogue, to slip into the character of Hercules Mulligan. Simply give the appearance of being on open book and keep the conversation trained mostly on the other person, letting them lead the topics of discussion without them _realising_ that they are doing so. It's a delicate balancing act, particularly with someone as tight-lipped as Burr, but then James always liked a challenge. "I hear you've been getting pretty cosy with Jefferson." He loses the lyrical quality of Mulligan's accent on that last word, the name 'Jefferson' sitting awkwardly on his tongue. College was the last time he said that name, and the lack of use shows.

Distracted by the topic change, Burr rolls his eyes - an uncharacteristic show of emotion in and of itself - and then proceeds to shares his opinion freely, something so momentous James almost reaches for his phone to mark the date. "I'm guessing he's told you all about how I switched parties just to spite him?" He looks over, and James jerks his head in affirmation. There was no time wasted on Hamilton's part; barely a day after Burr's election and every Senator, secretary and intern had heard, first hand, of the insult his family had suffered. "I know 'gracious in defeat' is a term Alexander thinks shouldn't apply to him, but surely even he can recognise that not every decision I make is for the sole purpose of pissing him off." It's hard to tell, but James thinks this is the most emotion Burr has ever shown in his presence. It's almost voyeuristic. "Just, you know, most of them are."

Giving a short bark of laughter (which is as close to Mulligan's hyena cackle that James can get), he waits for Burr to continue. One of the best tactics James ever learnt was the power of silence; it makes people uneasy, and they tend to keep talking solely to fill the gaps in conversation.

"It's not as if I didn't see this coming. It's very typical of him, really. " Burr gives a derisive scoff. "It's almost as if I'm not allowed to have political views unless they align with Alexander's."

Well that's unexpected. It's vaguely reassuring to hear that Burr does, somewhat, believe in what he and Thomas are trying to do, even if it's mostly believing in what Hamilton does not. Further proof that Burr needs to work on the strength of his moral fibre, but maybe he isn't a completely lost cause.

Without warning, Burr almost snaps to attention. His spine straightens, his pace quickens, and he stares ahead as if a soldier approaching the front lines. A sinking feeling slithers down James' throat and settles uncomfortably in his stomach.

Coming toward them is the President.

Mentally, James runs through an exhaustive list of everything he could do to Mulligan to exact revenge for placing him in this situation.

"Mr Burr." Washington comes to a halt, forcing them to stop as well. Thankful for the small section of his brain not focused on blind panic, James is able to maintain some level of outward calm. Turning to James, Washington noticeably softens. "Mr Mulligan, I wasn't aware you were-"

Pausing, Washington very noticeably looks him up and down, and James can see the instant he recognises _exactly_ who it is under the coat. Although Washington is a man of little expression, his eyes visibly harden, and James can predict how this will go, can see Washington open his mouth to start asking questions-

"I'm actually here to see Alex, but I could have a quick chat about that new suit you wanted while I'm free?" James is speaking before he has a chance to register what he's doing. All he is aware of is that _Burr can't know_. The man may not be a gossip per say, but he is an opportunist. 'Willing to crush those in your path' is a trait James admires, but not when used against _him_. Regardless of how vacuous his goal, Burr will stop at nothing to achieve it. Should he attempt to do something as foolhardy as _blackmail_ him, James will have no choice but to cut Burr loose. A waste of potential, really.

To his credit, Washington catches on quick, nodding sharply. The suspicious glare he has is doing no one any favours, but Burr seems caught up in some internal fit of jealousy, judging by his plastic smile and slight nostril flare. He doesn't even seem to be looking _at_ Washington, more looking past him.

"My office." Washington demands, striding away without so much of a dismissal in Burr's direction. James follows, giving Burr a hearty clap on the shoulder as he leaves, maintaining the charade with the last vestiges of his self-awareness.

They walk in silence. James has an minor mental battle with his fight or flight response.

Crossing the threshold into Washington's office feels similar to greeting a wave of vertigo. Despite the room being one of his common haunts around the White House, the strange feeling of falling off a precipice pervades the air. Everything seems off, as if Washington shifted all his furniture two inches to the left to mess with everyone. James counts the exits. There aren't enough for him to feel comfortable at this particular moment in time.

Washington sits. James does as well.

No one speaks.

For all they've had numerous arguments and disagreements about the proper way to run a country (and about Washington's strange, paternal need to care for Hamilton, completely ignoring his monarchist tendencies), James has never truly received the brunt of his anger. The President is a rational man, and he recognises that James is too. Even now, he isn't showing any of the usual signs of anger; it's reading much closer to disappointment.

"So," Washington says, "would you care to explain?"

"It's a bit of a story, I'm afraid." James doesn't bother with the accent, slipping back into his natural speech patterns. Somehow, it seems to put Washington more on edge. "I promise its nothing malicious." That probably doesn't sound too reassuring, actually.

"Should I be worried about Mr Mulligan?" He says, steepling his fingers. James shrinks slightly in his seat, feeling all of three feet tall, regardless of the slight platform in his shoes.

"I would be more concerned with Thomas, at this point."

The corner of Washington's eye twitches. "You sicced Herc on Jefferson?"

"'Sicced' is such a harsh word," James muses, "and would imply that I had some measure of control over the proceedings... but yes."

Softening ever so slightly, Washington continues, his jovial lilt returning. "This doesn't seem like you, James." The reprimand sits slightly under his words, and James ignores every desire to squirm in his seat like a scolded child.

"It was Mr Mulligan's idea." James concedes, trying to think of the most delicate way to phrase this. "However, I was the one who insisted on action in this situation."

"'Situation'?"

On a list of things James assumed he would never have to do, explaining the belligerent sexual tension between two of the most powerful statesmen in America to the _President_ would probably not even make the list. That's how little James thought he would never have to do it. "Like I said, it's a bit of a story."

"And I'm here, eager to listen." Washington gestures for James to continue, welcoming him to explain himself.

James has no words to do so. He was kind of hoping Hamilton would have to break the news to His Excellency.

Catching sight of the wall-clock, James clicks his tongue. Time is running out before their preordained lunch, and he hasn't even made it to Hamilton's office yet. "Is there any chance I could reschedule this meeting for tomorrow?"

Staring him down, Washington gives the appearance of someone wishing they could raise a singular eyebrow, but finds themselves physically incapable. It doesn't make him any less intimidating. "You can't be serious."

"I'm afraid so. I have a bit of a time limit." There is no possible way Washington will let him leave, not dressed as Mulligan and maybe not ever, given the incredibly illegal activity he just admitted to participating in. Spending the next ten years in prison is hardly conducive to his long term goals.

"You didn't get Mr Laurens or the Marquis involved as well, did you?"

The names are familiar, remnants of a time spent writing furiously to the early hours of the morning before getting terrible fast food with Hamilton as the sun rose. Laurens is one of Hamilton's friends, someone he met once or twice and forgot about immediately afterwards, too tired or sick to pretend he had any interest in meeting new people. The Marquis de Lafayette, on the other hand, he never knew as Hamilton's friend, but instead as Thomas' guide to all things French and one of the only other individuals Thomas trusts implicitly and without regard. He wasn't aware Hamilton and the Marquis were connected.

"I guarantee you, sir, only myself and Mr Mulligan are part of this particular caper." James plays the whole thing off like a joke, hoping to distract Washington from any thoughts of ramifications in his Cabinet.

Releasing a bone-deep sigh, Washington scrubs a hand over his face. "I suppose, if only yourself and Hercules are involved, then there's only so much trouble you can get into."

That sounds close enough to permission for James. Quickly standing, he nods in deference and hastily scrambles towards the door, eager to put this entire conversation behind him forever.

"James?" Washington calls out, just before he could reach the door. Cursing his short stride, James turns back around. "I expect the full story tomorrow."

"Of course, sir." Hopefully he can think up a way to explain what's happening without Washington thinking he's lost his mind.

Strutting towards Hamilton's office, James is grateful to not run into anyone else wanting to strike a conversation. He nods at Jay as they cross paths and gives the secretary a wild smile as he approaches Hamilton's door, but dutifully avoids giving any sort of indication he wants to talk. His heart probably can't take much more stress. Knocking seems like a pleasantry Mulligan would refuse to indulge in, so James ignores every Southern bone in his body and walks straight in.

Head buried in a veritable mountain of paperwork, Hamilton doesn't even notice his presence until James plonks himself in the seat opposite. The audible thunk causes Hamilton to shoot up, similar to a startled deer, and gape in James' general direction, until a Cheshire smile spreads quickly over his features. "Herc!"

James holds his hands up, silently saying 'yes, it is indeed I, your friend Hercules', without all the talking bits that might reveal his (this time deliberate) deception. Thankfully, Hamilton is fairly predictable in his habits and has already began talking. "God, you have no idea how glad I am to see you, these last few days have been _hell_ on my stress levels-"

And off he goes.

Whilst the notion of sitting quietly and letting everything wash over him is tempting - and far less risky - James did, unfortunately, come here with a purpose. He and Mulligan spent quite a few hours talking over possible scenarios and outcomes; after all, impersonating each other was hardly James' first choice. Encouraging Thomas and Hamilton to actually communciate seemed the most straightforward idea, until James remembered who he was talking about. If he was able to force them to talk without any of the ridiculous fronts they both put up, maybe they'd make some headway into this whole 'feeling things' concept. It sounded just as impossible inside his head as it did when he tried to pitch it to Mulligan, who hadn't done more than look unimpressed through James' entire explanation.

Mulligan's idea was fairly simple, particularly in comparison to its execution. Despite everything, he was still somewhat unsure of how truthful James was being - a reasonable assumption, and one James would have made in his place. Apparently, the best approach to proving the validity of James' story and giving Thomas and Hamilton the first push towards a happier tomorrow was to go undercover and do some recon. Should it all be an attempt to embarrass Hamilton, then Thomas would easily admit as such to the man he believed to be 'James'. If Hamilton hadn't admitted anything, then James was wasting his time.

"And you don't seem like someone to waste their time, so I'm tempted to give you the benefit of the doubt." Mulligan had said, measuring James for a custom made jacket, designed to elongate his stature. "I still need to hear Jefferson say the magic words though."

"Thomas hasn't even told me about his... intentions." James made every effort to stand still, trying to make this as painless as possible. "I doubt he even realises."

"Then turnabout is fair play. You got to hear Alex's confession, now I'll hear Jefferson's. Win-win situation for both of us."

What bullshit, James thinks, sitting in Hamilton's office. Mulligan definitely got the win in this situation, getting to spend time with Thomas and force him to confront his feelings. All James gets to do is listen to Hamilton rant for hours on end, something he spends every second at work avoiding.

"-and the _email_ Washington sent me this morning, about how I have to stop throwing tennis balls into Jefferson's office," oh no, he's already talking about Thomas and James wasn't listening at all. Tuning back in, James checks his posture and makes sure he's lounging effectively, "as if that beanpole deserves to speak to me after the shit he said. Besides, he threw a notepad into my office first, so if anything, Jefferson started it and he should be the one to get in trouble!"

Sometimes, James wonders if Hamilton can actually hear himself speak. "How'd y'know he didn't?" His accent is a little off, a bit too Southern. Unlike Burr though, who James knows is observant, if a bit too caught up in his own head, Hamilton has the social skills of an uncooked lentil. If he bought James' impersonation last time, it should - hopefully - be a piece of cake this time.

"Oh please, as if the golden boy of politics will ever get in trouble for something like this." That's certainly an interesting take on Washington's favouritism. Maybe the man is better at impartiality than James thought, even if his definition of impartial is a bit skewed. "I feel like it's unhealthy to spend your days imagining yourself strangling your co-workers, huh?"

"I thought you wanted to hold his hand," James leers, trying to give his voice some sort of sing-song quality. It doesn't come easy to him.

"Can I not want both?" Hamilton slumps slightly, leaning on one hand. "I can picture myself choking him and still, y'know, _picture myself choking him_." The accompanying sleazy eyebrow punctuates the sentence in a way James hopes to block from all future recollections of this day. Maybe he'll screw the middle man and just block the whole day entirely.

Holding back bile and reminding himself that he wants Thomas to be happy, and if for some god forsaken reason, Hamilton can give his friend that, then he will be supportive, James leans in. "So what are you waiting for?"

"What?"

"Alex," another name that feels strange on his tongue, "in all the years I've known you, not once have you waited for anything or anyone." It's more words than he's had to say all day, and James regrets it instantly, hearing his accent waver in and out. Hamilton looks taken aback, but not murderous or distrustful, so James continues. "So why the fuck you hesitating now?"

"I'm not! I just," he trails off, looking aside, "we still have to work together after this. I can hardly go around handing Jefferson ammunition. Could you imagine the look on his face when I give him the keys to my destruction?" Hamilton shakes his head. James has to give him credit, it's more consideration than he thought he'd do. "Besides, we can barely stand to be in the same room together at the moment. If we made things any worse, I think Washington would get rid of both of us and hire a completely new Cabinet."

"Can it get any worse?" James asks. It's an honest question. "You just said you're talking to each other via tennis ball. That's about as low as it gets."

"I... didn't think of it that way." Hamilton seems considering, if a bit hesitant. "No, it'd never work. He's-" He cuts off with an audible sound of frustration, a sentiment James can relate to. "We'd destroy each other."

"Never knew Alexander Hamilton to be a coward." Whether or not this is accurate to Mulligan's personality, James has no idea. It's far more an opinion of James'. Ignoring politics, ignoring personal vendettas, James and Hamilton have known each other for going on a decade now. In that entire time, Hamilton has never once been afraid to go after the things he wants, even when it makes no logical sense and any sane human being would accept their lot. It's what makes him such a political force of nature.

To hear Hamilton _hesitant_ over his _feelings_ is fundamentally wrong.

"Coward?" The look on Hamilton's face is a strange mix of disbelief and rage. There's something reassuring about its familiarity. "I'll show you coward."

Standing suddenly, Hamilton rushes past, knocking a pile of paperwork to the floor. He ignores it entirely, already halfway out the door before James can even recognise what has happened. His first thought is, _wow_ , that was a lot easier than he expected; Hamilton's short fuse is legendary, and all the more easier to trigger if you know the right words and phrases.

After all that time working together, knowing the right buttons to press is easy.

His second thought is _oh shit fuck_ because if he's heading where James thinks, they're in a lot of trouble.

Sprinting after Hamilton, James has approximately five seconds to curse at how close Thomas and Hamilton's offices are, because by the time he catches up, Hamilton is already pounding on the door, avoiding the broken window pane hastily covered up with a spare piece of a fabric to afford Thomas some modicum of privacy. Hamilton is hitting the door so hard, the light fixtures are rattling.

Grabbing his arm, James physically pulls Hamilton away. "What the hell are you doing?" Knowing Hamilton is reckless is always different to seeing it in person. James is desperately trying not to lose all control over the situation.

"I am _not_ a coward." Hamilton hisses, almost spitting in James' face.

"I know Hamilton, I was goading you ," James runs a hand over his eyes, watching as Hamilton slumps a little, the fire doused for now.

"Why?" He asks, and James panics internally because _he has no answer for that_. When Thomas' door clicks open, he's actually thankful for the interruption.

Until he sees Mulligan at Thomas' side.

The illusion they've crafted isn't perfect; for all they have similar features, there are more than enough differences that, when standing side by side, the illusion shatters. Immediately, Thomas' eye is drawn to James, and he furrows his brow looking him up and down, trying to figure out what the niggling feeling of recognition is. Glancing to his right, James sees that Hamilton is staring unabashedly at Mulligan, the contortions of his brain visible across every feature.

The silence lasts maybe a second. It's the single, most awkward silence James has ever lived through.

Brain whirring through various scenarios, James desperately tries to come up with some sort of solution, something he can do to _fix this_. Should either Hamilton or Thomas figure out the truth, the resulting fallout will be more than enough to cause the destruction of the White House. Neither of them take well to deception.

He makes the mistake of glancing at Mulligan, and catches a familiar gleam in his eye. It's Hamilton's 'Bad Idea' gleam, and without warning, Mulligan turns slightly on his heel, grabs Thomas by the lapels, and pulls him down for a kiss.

With tongue.

James makes an inhuman noise of despair, which is thankfully covered by Hamilton's strange mix of a cough and a whine. Of all the possible plans, of all the covers, _this_ is what Mulligan comes up with?

Eyes wide with shock, Hamilton backs away slowly, seemingly loathe to take his eyes off the scene unfolding in front of him. With a slight whine, he turns, walking as fast as he is physically capable, most definitely not in the direction of his office. James wants to reach out and stop him, but he's not sure if he can maintain the act at this moment. There's something anchoring him to this spot, a deep concern for Thomas. Decades have passed since anything remotely romantic was between them, but James knows better than anyone how Thomas can agonise, can obsess. How something like this will throw him entirely off kilter.

Turning away from Hamilton's quickly retreating back, James attempts to take in the scene in front of him.

Thomas has been an entirely passive participant, all slack jaw and horrified stare, but the sound of Hamilton's dress shoes in the distance seems to bring him back to reality. He quickly shoves Mulligan off, and there's a fury in his eyes that James hasn't seen for years.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Thomas whispers, glancing furtively in the direction Hamilton disappeared, and if James had any doubts about Thomas' feelings, that single look would have cleared them all up.

Without waiting for an answer, Thomas stalks off in the direction Hamilton disappeared, the waves of rage rolling off him almost palpable. Turning to Mulligan, James drops all pretences and openly scrutinises the man in front of him.

"I repeat the question." James says, keeping his voice calm. There's no use in getting angry at Mulligan right now. What's done is done, and anger is hardly productive. When this entire mess is over, then James will allow himself anger.

"Shit." Mulligan mutters, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to do that."

"Really?" James takes a step forward. There's no true, physical way for him to crowd Mulligan, not with their size difference and the thick layer of muscle James knows is under the suit, but he'll be damned if he doesn't try. "Mind explaining why you did?"

"I may have panicked a little," he gives a sheepish shrug, large shoulders shifting under the tight fabric of his suit. "Alex was staring at me and I freaked and did the first thing I thought of."

James raises an eyebrow condescendingly. He really has nothing to say at this point. "You've made a right mess of things." Okay, he has one thing to say.

"Alex looked really upset, didn't he." Mulligan doesn't ask. He doesn't have to. As usual, Hamilton wears his heart on his sleeve, and the look of devastation as he left was hardly mistakable.

"He was coming over here to confess."

"Of course he was." Mulligan leans back against the wall, sliding down towards the floor, and placing his head in his hands. For all this is entirely his fault, the picture is so pathetic that James finds himself tempted to try and _comfort_ him.

Which, no. If it wasn't for Mulligan, none of this would have happened.

Still, James can hardly deny his own role in the proceedings. Maybe things would not have escalated this far without Mulligan, but they wouldn't have escalated at all without James.

"Maybe I should go talk to him." Mulligan says, lifting his head up.

"Looking like that?"

As if realising that they're still swapped, Mulligan comically examines his own clothes, running another hand through his hair. It's well and truly mussed at this point, the slight length of it falling out of place and beginning to ruin the mirage of his impersonation.

"Besides," James continues, "Thomas followed Hamilton out of here, and I doubt he's going to be happy to see me for a while."

"Are you saying we leave them? I can't do that, I can't just leave Alex-"

"You can't leave him?" The maelstrom of anger James is attempting to hold back flares. "It's your fault he's upset!"

"I know, that's why I've got to-"

"What? Explain what happened?"

Mulligan begins to snarl a response, before thinking his response through and realising that there's nothing either of them could say at this point to make things better. With a quiet growl, he stands, monstrous bulk straining the fabric of his suit.

"Give both of them time to think. Thomas will definitely need some space, and it wouldn't surprise me if Hamilton did too." James says, aiming for reassuring. He's not entirely sure if he believes what he's saying, but he can't think of any way to follow Thomas or Hamilton at this point. What would he even say. "My guess is that, by tomorrow, everything will return to normal."

It's bullshit. But at this point, James will say anything to stop Mulligan from ripping through the seams of his suit and scarring the poor interns on his way out.

He doesn't know Hamilton anywhere near as well, but if he and Thomas are anything alike, it will be pointless speaking to them until they can get some distance and rationality. It's painful to leave things like this, but James can't muster the courage to try and face a hurt, distressed, spiteful  Thomas.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I fear I've taken ill. I believe I'll take the rest of the day off." The thought of facing anyone else in the White House is exhausting, and James leaves Mulligan alone in the hallway, eager to go home and pretend this entire day was a fever dream of some sort. The entire trip home is hazy, and he winds up crawling into bed at 3 in the afternoon, wanting to sleep solely so the day will end, but forcing himself to stay awake and watch terrible TV until a somewhat reasonable hour. A quiet voice in the back of his head reminds him to eat, and James ignores how much it sounds like Thomas. He ignores all desire to call him and make sure he's okay, to go over and help him through whatever's agonising him.

It's painful, but James wills himself through it, putting another episode on of a show he can't remember five minutes after watching it. Mulligan has very kindly removed all options of communication with Thomas in one fell swoop, and acknowledging that Thomas won't want to speak to him, at all, for the first time in fifteen years...

James goes to sleep. Maybe the wound will have scabbed over by tomorrow.

The soft ping of his phone wakens him, the clock forcefully informing him that it's just past 6 in the morning. He has an email alert from Washington, and James feels sick at the thought of having to explain to the man what he was doing yesterday. The email appears to have been sent to the entire White House staff, which is a little odd.

He opens it, and immediately drops his phone.

_From: potus@whitehouse.gov_

_To: All Staff_

_Subject: MEMO - ALL EMPLOYEES_

_Good morning,_

_Due to unforeseen circumstances, Thomas Jefferson has resigned from his position as Secretary of State, effective immediately. We are deeply saddened to see Mr Jefferson depart after so many years of service, however we wish him well on all future endeavours._

_Until a suitable replacement can be found, John Jay will be acting Secretary of State. All foreign matters must be run through his office._

_We appreciate your flexibility during this time._

_Regards,  
George Washington_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **edit:** james' convo with washington was changed, he now doesn't tell him anything about his and mulligan's plan.
> 
> history things:
> 
>   * the guy james started a debating society war with was actually burr 
>   * as mentioned in a past historical notes, john jay was acting secretary of state before tjeffs got back from france. nice to give jay his job back 
> that's about it actually. there were a lot of shenanigans in this chapter. i love each and every one of you. whenever i'm having a bad day i reread your comments, thats how much i love you guys


**Author's Note:**

> come visit me over [ here](https://rev-set.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


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